


Brand new steps

by Ostodvandi



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anxiety, First Kiss, M/M, Sexuality Crisis, Slow Dancing, Trans Male Character, Trans Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius, Yearning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:47:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23235688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ostodvandi/pseuds/Ostodvandi
Summary: Rodrigue is chosen by their teacher to represent the Blue Lions in the White Heron Cup. Lambert offers to help.
Relationships: Lambert Egitte Blaiddyd/Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius
Comments: 3
Kudos: 26
Collections: Rodrigue Week 2020





	Brand new steps

**Author's Note:**

> I'm way too tired to beta this but thankfully my friend Leo volunteered to help me out. This is a mess and I almost died writing it. I think quarantine is driving me insane. Anyway I'm a whole ass hoe for dancer Rodrigue but this went to unexpected places. Beware for a depiction of a certain someone using a binder rather improperly please do NOT immitate him.
> 
> Day 1 of Rodrigue weekend, I chose "Academy".

'Me?!'

Rodrigue's voice echoes through the cathedral, and some nuns and monks turn to him, flushing his cheeks a deep, embarrassing red. He bows to them, apologizing in his usual low and polite voice, and then looks up at his teacher. 'I… It cannot be me.'

'Well, it is. I'd say your charm is quite impressive, do you not agree?'

Rodrigue indeed doesn't agree; even if he were to think he is charming, there are other people miles ahead of him in that aspect. Lambert, for one, even if he can understand not choosing the crown prince of Faerghus to be a dancer.

But why choose him? He knows how to dance, but doubts anyone wants to see  _ him _ dance, of all people.

'I… don't know, Professor. But… ah, I'll do my best to meet your expectations.'

The teacher smiles at his compliance. 'I know you will, Rodrigue. You always have.'

At the very least, it's always comforting to hear such words from an authority figure, even if they also put more pressure on him. 'Thank you.'

And then the teacher leaves, as if they hadn't just dropped a bolganone spell in Rodrigue's brain. What is he supposed to do now with this knowledge? He's got… How long? Two weeks to prepare? That isn't enough, it can't possibly be enough.

He walks out of the cathedral, feeling the anxiety bubble up inside him and over his lungs, constricted by the corset placed on his chest. He leans on the railing of the bridge, and Goddess, this is the worst moment to panic, alone and so far from his bedroom where he could at least take this damn thing off.

He has to breathe properly. And stretch his arms. And those are exactly the things he does, even if the White Heron Cup is still in his mind, and the disgrace that would come with it if he rejects the decision the teacher has made, or even worse, fails in the contest and ridicules himself in front of everyone.

No, that just can't happen.

He hears a voice, and just like a knight in shiny armor from legend, his best friend shows up, running from the other side of the bridge. 'Rod?!'

'Oh.' He manages a smile. Lambert's presence is always soothing. 

'Are you alright?' Lambert gets closer, placing a hand on Rodrigue's back. 'I was coming this way and you didn't look very good so…'

‘I’m… fine.’ He takes in some air and exhales it slowly. ‘I just… can we go to my room?’

Lambert nods immediately, and they walk the way back to the dorms together. Thankfully they don’t find many people on their way, and thus there aren’t many eyes staring at them. Well, they stare at Lambert usually. ‘What’s worrying you?’

‘The professor, uh, had a talk with me in the cathedral.’ Lambert’s eyebrows arch up, interested.

‘Did… something bad happen?’

Would he consider it bad? It should feel like an honor, being chosen for the White Heron Cup, but he’s more anxious about it than anything. ‘...It’s complicated.’ 

‘Huh… Well, you can tell me when we get there.’

Rodrigue agrees and resists the urge to readjust the corset under his uniform. He sighs with relief when they reach the stairs to the dorms, and, thankfully, his room and Lambert’s aren’t that far away now. 

‘And we made it,’ Lambert comments, opening the door to Rodrigue’s bedroom and shooting him a calm smile. Rodrigue slips inside and starts taking off his uniform jacket and unbuttoning his shirt. ‘Do you need help unlacing that?’

‘...That would be convenient,’ Rodrigue murmurs, slightly breathless, and Lambert laughs. Careful to not tear it, his fingers unlace the corset around his friend’s chest, allowing him to breathe properly, and Rodrigue tries to not think too much about the brief touch of the prince’s fingertips on his back and the shivers it sends down his spine. 

‘Did you wear this thing all day again?’ Lambert questions, turning around to give his friend some privacy. ‘You know you shouldn’t…’

‘I’m aware,’ Rodrigue whines, rubbing over his ribs. ‘I just… forgot.’

He doesn’t need to look at Lambert to know he’s pouting, and that it won’t be the last time Lambert chastises him on this particular subject. ‘Anyway. What was that complicated thing our professor told you about?’

Ah, yes. The source of that anxiety. He almost forgot, having Lambert so close. ‘...They have chosen me for… the White Heron Cup.’

‘...Ah. I… I see.’ By the tone of his voice, Lambert somehow knows something about this. ‘But… why is it a bad thing?’

‘Because I…’ Rodrigue sighs, buttoning up the last button on his shirt and grabbing his jacket. ‘I don’t think I will… do a good enough job.’

‘Nonsense,’ Lambert snaps and turns back to Rodrigue, crossing his arms over his chest. ‘Look at you! You’re the prettiest person in our class. The most handsome man at least.’

Rodrigue huffs, hoping his face doesn’t look as red as he feels it. ‘I… disagree. Besides, it’s not only about looks, in fact, I’d dare say looks are a small part of what makes a dancer. It’s… about the technique, mostly.’

‘You talk like you aren’t a good dancer. And like you don’t enjoy it.’

Rodrigue flinches, closing his jacket. He feels more comfortable, but… ‘I’m not… good enough. Besides, my father probably wouldn’t approve of it.’ Or would subtly mock him for it, calling it an occupation fit for a woman or someone of lower station. 

‘I suppose he wouldn't but… He’s not here! He doesn’t need to know. Don’t look at me like that,’ Lambert whines, walking two steps closer and placing his hands on Rodrigue’s shoulders. ‘I believe that you can do it. I mean, I recommended you for a reason-’

‘You did WHAT?! Lambert!’ Rodrigue whines, and his friend has the decency to look sheepish. ‘Why did you do that?!’

The prince ruffles his own hair, and it’s such a stupidly charming gesture, with some strands falling astray from his usual hairstyle, Rodrigue almost forgets about his frustration. ‘I told you. You’re… gorgeous, Rodrigue. And your dancing is good. You’re a good magic user as well, so… there’s no catch.’ I’m the catch, Rodrigue thinks, and he groans. ‘So when the professor asked me, I thought about it for a while, and the only person that came to mind was you. I can help you practice! And, eh, the outfit isn’t that revealing, if that worries you.’

Rodrigue’s shoulders fall, and he looks away from Lambert, his best friend who also has those impulses full of good intentions but that sometimes put people in trouble. And “people” most of the time means Rodrigue, but they have always gotten out of said troubles together.

‘...You’ll have to help me practise, and,’ Lambert nods in advance, putting his hands together behind his back. ‘... Study with me, in the library, every single day until the White Heron Cup.’

Lambert’s expression changes just enough for Rodrigue to notice it, and he recovers his usual sunshine smile soon enough. ‘...S-Sure. Will do.’

Rodrigue sighs. ‘At least I got an excuse to make you study out of this… mess. Let’s get to it right now.’

‘Studying?!’ Lambert’s eyes open wide, and he walks back a step.

‘No. Dancing. Although if you want to study, I won’t be the one to stop y-’

‘Oh, yes, dancing,’ Lambert interrupts and laughs. ‘Now, how should we begin…’

Without any previous warning, Lambert’s hand lands on Rodrigue’s shoulder, and the other holds Rodrigue’s hand. Despite him being familiar and two layers of clothing away from being skin on skin, his body tenses up and his heart starts beating to what feels like twice as fast as usual. Perhaps it’s not only the touch, but also the fact that Lambert is placing himself even closer to Rodrigue, looking down at him with eyes the color of the sky on a rare sunny morning in Faerghus.

He could write poetry about Lambert being his guiding light or his sun or everything that keeps him standing nowadays until all the ink in the world ran out, but right now, he focuses on actually holding Lambert’s hand up by himself, the calloused hands of a man who was raised to be both a king and a warrior, strong enough to break a human skull without a sweat, and yet so tender.

How lucky she would be, the lady that would end up eventually marrying him. He’s trying to get used to the idea that this person will never be him: even if he were a woman, things would be difficult.

But at least Lambert’s eyes and hands are there. His lips as well, inaccessible, and yet so tempting. Because maybe if only he could get on his tiptoes, or if Lambert leaned down a little, then maybe-

‘Do you want to set the rhythm?’ Lambert asks, taking Rodrigue out of that dangerous train of thought, and grabbing his free, limp hand to put it on his own waist. ‘You lead.’

Rodrigue nods rather weakly at Lambert’s question. But it feels strange to lead in the dance, being raised to be in the position his friend is now, to be led. How odd to feel like the prince is in his hands, instead of vice versa, because House Blaiddyd has always been the one leading them, guiding them, since the times of Loog and his loyal servant Kyphon. 

‘Let’s see… one, two…’

A Fraldarius advises their Blaiddyd, and the Blaiddyd leads. But the Academy is far, far away from Fhirdiad and its court. 

The room is small, so they dance too close to each other, which isn’t as much of a practice as it is a way for Rodrigue to forget years of dance instruction and develop a second left foot, thus stumbling into Lambert, who also seems not very focused on the task.

And so, the sixth time it happens, Rodrigue thinks of laughing this off and suggesting they move some furniture around since Lambert’s strength should make it easy. But his friend’s hand, previously resting on his shoulder, now goes around his neck, and Rodrigue’s nose ends up buried in Lambert’s jacket. He smells like iron and sweat from this morning’s practice at the training grounds, and the remnants of this morning’s cologne, the same scent he’s had ever since they were both given their first weapons as five-year-olds.

He rubs Lambert’s back and turns his head to him as much as he can, trapped in this embrace as he is. ‘...Lambert?’

‘Lately, it’s been… hard. Looking at you.’

Rodrigue frowns. ‘...What?’

He feels Lambert sighing, and gives him some seconds to gather the words he needs. ‘...Before, when we… uh, still thought you were a woman, I liked you. So much. And when it turned out you were a man, I, well, I thought I’d stop liking you. But I haven’t, and it’s just…’

Rodrigue can hear his own blood pump on his ears, his heart beating so furiously it might damage his ribs, an odd, new sort of anxiety creeping up inside him.

‘At first, I felt so much shame, I could barely look you in the eyes. I felt like I couldn’t respect my own best friend properly, even if by all means you were and are a man for me. And then I- I realized… Perhaps I just… Do like men as well? I heard stories about that, but I never thought I… you know...’

‘...That’s fine, Lambert,’ he doesn’t know how, but he manages to keep his voice steady and even. ‘I understand.’

The sigh that comes out of Lambert’s lips is filled with relief this time, and his body relaxes slightly. ‘That’s good to hear… So very good.’ The hug loosens a little, and Lambert puts their foreheads together, making it impossible for both of them to escape each other’s gazes. ‘That makes it easier for me to confess to you.’

Confess. That’s a word Rodrigue never thought he’d hear, not directed at him. 

‘Lambert-’

The prince grabs Rodrigue’s hand and lifts it to his lips, kissing his knuckles. It’s like he’s trying his best to make Rodrigue’s heart burst out of his body. ‘When I said you were gorgeous, Rod, I was being completely honest. You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen, my best friend, the greatest companion I could have, and I… I want to court you properly.’

It is rare, the occasion when Rodrigue is at a complete loss of words, but if anyone could do that to him it would be Lambert. ‘I- I don’t know if it’s a good idea-’ Lambert’s expression turns similar to that of a kicked puppy, and that just so happens to be one of Rodrigue’s weakest points. ‘My father, and yours, I couldn’t-’

Lambert’s hands cup Rodrigue’s cheeks. ‘They don’t have to know.’

Rodrigue’s heart skips a beat, and all of those years of reading romantic novels of star crossed lovers come flooding back into his mind, as Lambert strokes his cheek with his thumb, pushing a strand of hair behind his ear.

Rodrigue tilts his head, eyelids falling slowly, and he hopes Lambert understands what he means. That he accepts his feelings, that he reciprocates them, that he has been starving for Lambert’s lips all this time, perhaps more than his friend has longed for him.

He feels Lambert’s breath over his lips and opens his mouth a little, feeling as vulnerable as he can be. ‘Lamb-’

Before he can say his name, Lambert’s mouth on his silences him completely, knocking the breath out of his lungs, and Rodrigue willingly melts into the first kiss of his life. Lambert’s hands leave Rodrigue’s cheeks to rest on his waist.

Perhaps he’s right, and they don’t have to know. Perhaps, for now, they can just keep acting like Fhirdiad is far far away and slow dance and kiss clumsily in a small room.

**Author's Note:**

> I listened to Everytime we touch for the first time in MONTHS writing this fic.
> 
> I have [a Twitter](https://twitter.com/Ostodvandi).


End file.
